Kevin Costner really went for it. Honestly, in 1997, coming off the massive, salt-water-drenched headache that was Waterworld, nobody expected him to double down on a three-hour neo-Western about a guy delivering mail in the apocalypse. But he did. The Postman isn’t just a movie; it’s a fascinating, bloated, sincere, and occasionally baffling piece of American filmmaking that feels like it belongs to a completely different era of cinema.
You’ve probably heard the jokes. It swept the Razzies. It lost a fortune. Critics absolutely shredded it for being "pretentious" or "self-indulgent." But if you watch it today, away from the 90s tabloid noise surrounding Costner’s ego, there is something weirdly resonant about it. It’s a movie about how civilizations aren't built on armies, but on the simple act of talking to one another.
What Actually Happens in The Postman?
The year is 2013—which, okay, feels a bit funny now—and the United States has basically dissolved. A "Doomwar" (never fully explained, which is a smart move) has wiped out the government. People live in scattered, terrified walled towns. Enter our nameless protagonist, played by Costner. He’s a drifter. A Shakespeare-reciting loner who just wants to find a meal and avoid getting killed by the Holnists.
The Holnists are the "bad guys," led by General Bethlehem, played with a strange, shaky intensity by Will Patton. These guys follow the "laws" of a survivalist named Nathan Holn. Basically, they believe the strong should dominate the weak and that "mercy is a lie."
Our hero finds an old Jeep Wagoneer with a dead mail carrier inside. He takes the uniform to stay warm. He takes the bag of old letters. When he gets to the next town, he lies. He tells them he’s a representative of the "Restored United States Government." He claims he’s a federal employee. He does it for a bowl of soup. He’s a con man.
But then, something happens. The lie becomes bigger than the man. People need the lie. They need to believe that someone, somewhere, is still in charge and that their letters are actually going somewhere. This is the core of The Postman. It’s not an action movie, even though there are horses and guns. It’s a movie about the power of an idea.
Why Critics Hated It (And Why They Might Have Been Wrong)
When the film dropped on Christmas Day in 1997, the knives were out. The budget was roughly $80 million—a massive sum back then—and it clawed back less than $20 million at the domestic box office.
Roger Ebert gave it two stars. He called it "good-hearted" but "goofy." The main complaint was the length. At 177 minutes, it’s a marathon. Costner loves a slow burn. He loves sweeping shots of the Oregon landscape. He loves scenes where people stare meaningfully at the horizon while James Newton Howard’s score swells.
Critics felt it was a vanity project. There’s a famous scene where a kid hands a letter to the Postman while he's on a galloping horse, and the whole thing is captured in slow motion. It’s peak "Costner as Savior" imagery. In the cynical, pre-9/11 world of the late 90s, this level of earnestness felt almost embarrassing. People wanted Scream or The Matrix. They didn't want a three-hour fable about the U.S. Postal Service.
However, viewing it now, that earnestness is its greatest strength. The Postman doesn't have a cynical bone in its body. It genuinely believes that humans want to be connected. In an age of social media echo chambers and digital isolation, the idea that a physical letter could spark a revolution feels almost radical.
The Source Material: David Brin’s Novel
It's worth noting that the film is based on a 1985 book by David Brin. Brin is a hard sci-fi writer, and his version is a bit different. In the book, the "bad guys" are more scientifically enhanced—super-soldiers of a sort. The movie strips that away.
Costner’s version makes it more of a Western. General Bethlehem isn't a sci-fi monster; he’s a former copier salesman who decided to become a warlord. That’s a brilliant touch. It suggests that in the collapse of society, the most dangerous people aren't the monsters, but the mediocre men who finally get a chance to bully others.
Brin has been mostly supportive of the film, though he’s noted that it loses some of the book's nuance regarding the "Augments." But the film keeps the book's heart: the idea that the Postman doesn't actually bring the government back—the people do, simply by believing his lie.
The Production Was a Beast
Filming took place across Washington, Oregon, and Arizona. Costner, acting as both lead and director, was coming off the nightmare of Waterworld, where sets literally sank into the ocean. Compared to that, a land-based shoot should have been easy. It wasn't.
- They built entire towns from scratch.
- The "Pineview" set was built in a real quarry.
- Costner insisted on using real locations rather than soundstages to give it a "lived-in" feel.
The attention to detail is actually incredible. The costumes look dirty. The gear looks repurposed. You can see the influence of Mad Max, but it's "Mad Max if he worked for the government."
One of the most interesting casting choices was Tom Petty. Yes, that Tom Petty. He plays the mayor of a bridge city, and the movie heavily implies he’s playing an older version of himself. "I know you," Costner says. "You're famous." Petty replies, "I used to be." It’s a meta-moment that works surprisingly well in a movie that otherwise takes itself very seriously.
The Legacy: Is It Actually A Cult Classic?
The term "cult classic" gets thrown around a lot. Usually, it refers to something like The Rocky Horror Picture Show. The Postman hasn't quite reached that level of midnight-movie fame. Instead, it’s become a "Sunday afternoon" movie.
It’s the kind of film you catch on cable, intend to watch for ten minutes, and then suddenly you’ve been on the couch for three hours. There is a comfort to its pace. It doesn't rush. It lets you live in its world.
Thematically, the movie has aged better than most 90s blockbusters. It deals with:
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- The fragility of infrastructure.
- The role of communication in democracy.
- How symbols (like a uniform) carry more weight than the people wearing them.
In 2020, during the height of the pandemic and the debates over the role of the USPS in the election, people started tweeting about The Postman again. Suddenly, a movie about the vital importance of mail delivery didn't seem so "goofy" anymore. It felt prophetic.
Common Misconceptions About The Movie
People often lump this in with Waterworld as a "disaster." Financially, sure. But creatively? They are very different. Waterworld is an action-adventure. The Postman is a political drama disguised as a post-apocalyptic Western.
Another misconception is that it’s "pro-war." It’s actually the opposite. The hero is a coward for the first half of the film. He spends most of the time trying to run away. The "war" at the end is portrayed as a tragic necessity, and the resolution is found through a one-on-one challenge rather than mass slaughter. It tries to find a way out of the violence, which is rare for the genre.
Also, let’s talk about the kid, Ford Lincoln Mercury (played by Larenz Tate). People mocked the name. But in the context of the movie—a world where people have forgotten the past—naming yourself after a car you saw on a rusted sign makes total sense. Tate brings a lot of heart to the role, representing the generation that grew up after the fall and is desperate for something to hold onto.
Actionable Insights for the Modern Viewer
If you’re going to sit down and watch The Postman for the first time—or the first time in twenty years—keep these things in mind to actually enjoy the experience:
- Don't watch it on a small screen. The cinematography by Stephen Windon is legitimately gorgeous. He later went on to shoot many of the Fast & Furious movies, but his work here is much more classical and expansive.
- Embrace the "Cheese." Yes, there are moments that are incredibly sentimental. If you fight them, you'll hate the movie. If you accept that this is a fable about hope, the sentimentality works.
- Look for the subtext of the Holnists. They represent a very specific type of toxic "survival of the fittest" mentality that is still very much present in modern discourse.
- Give it time. The first hour is slow. The second hour builds the world. The third hour is where the payoff happens. It is a commitment, but the ending—while perhaps a bit too "perfect"—is emotionally satisfying.
The Postman is a reminder of a time when directors were allowed to fail on a massive scale. It’s a big, messy, beautiful swing at the fences. Even if it didn't hit a home run in 1997, it’s still standing there in the middle of the field, demanding to be looked at. In a world of 90-minute formulaic streaming content, there is something deeply respectable about Kevin Costner’s three-hour postal epic.
Next Steps for Deeper Exploration
To fully appreciate the world Costner tried to build, track down a copy of David Brin’s original novel. Comparing the "scientific" apocalypse of the book to the "mythic" apocalypse of the film offers a masterclass in how Hollywood adapts—and often simplifies—complex sci-fi themes. If you're a fan of the genre, it's also worth watching the "Post-Apocalyptic Western" subgenre evolution, comparing this to earlier films like Pale Rider or later ones like The Road.